Gentle Stranger
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: A spoiled rich man comes looking for a wife, but finds something else altogether. Follows 'Shannon's Last Legacy'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _This story was inspired by a song written by Toni Tennille; I borrowed its title as well. The disclaimer is due up again, so here goes: Mr. Roarke, Tattoo, Lawrence and Julie are the products of the imaginations of Aaron Spelling, Leonard Goldberg and Gene Levitt. Anyone else was born in my own imagination, and if you want to borrow one or more of them, I'm the one to ask. Thanks as ever to PDXWiz, Harry2 and jtbwriter, and to anyone else who may cruise through this category and take time out to read and especially review. Enjoy…  
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§ § § -- August 17, 2002

"Good morning, Father!" Leslie said cheerfully, crossing the porch with Christian at her side. "What a beautiful day!"

Roarke looked curiously at her. "Wasn't it you who made a point of observing in the past that there is no such thing as a _non_-beautiful Saturday on this island?"

Christian smirked. "It's not the weather, Mr. Roarke. Since we decided to see how it would work out to let me bring Leslie here early on Saturday mornings from now on, rather than dropping her off Friday evening after dinner, she's been delirious. One more night for us to be together."

Roarke grinned at that. "I see," he said, chuckling at the dirty look Leslie shot her husband. "I hope you'll be able to concentrate on your job today."

Leslie pivoted on the ball of one foot and poked Christian in the chest, eliciting a look of comical surprise from him. "You," she announced, "are a tattletale, Christian Enstad."

"I didn't have to be, my Rose," he said smugly. "You have a look about you that tells all the world you're hopelessly in love with me. And if you want the honest truth, the more people who see that, the better. You're mine, and you always will be." He kissed her firmly and grinned. "Before we're all late for work, I'd better get going." He dropped a last kiss on his wife's lips, nodded jauntily at Roarke, and jogged down the steps to the Enstads' car. They watched him drive off around the bend in the lane, and Leslie crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head.

"He's entirely too pleased with himself," she remarked fondly.

"He's also correct about you," Roarke observed, "but fear not, my child: he can no more hide his delight over your extra night together every week than you can. I suspect he will be in for some energetic teasing from his employees." Leslie burst out laughing and he chuckled with her. "Let's go and greet our guests."

Leslie's buoyant mood lasted till their second guest came down the dock, carrying what appeared to be a briefcase; there was something familiar enough about him to make her tilt forward a little and squint. Roarke watched her mouth drop open in shock. "You can't be serious," she said, horrified. "What on earth is _he_ doing here?"

Roarke smiled with satisfaction. "So you recognize Mr. Simon Lightwood-Wynton, all the way from London, then. Very good."

"Actually, 'very good' is about the last thing this is. Father, for heaven's sake, this is the third time that flake's been here. I thought you had a rule about repeated trips by the same guests. How much did he bribe you to get around it?"

Roarke gave her a highly offended look. "My dear Leslie, as you are certainly well aware, there are mitigating circumstances. Most obviously—or, at least, it should have been obvious to you, and you merely refuse to admit it—Mr. Lightwood-Wynton's first two visits were not of his own volition. His initial trip here was in the company of his mother, who had the fantasy on that occasion; and his second trip was with the storm-chasing group, whose leader was the one with the fantasy. Therefore, the rule did not apply to him."

Leslie snorted ungraciously, glaring daggers at the obnoxious Londoner. "He gives all Brits a bad name. So tell me, whose fantasy is he riding on this time?"

"His own," Roarke assured her, finally getting her direct attention. "Yes, this will be his final trip here, my child. He tells me that his parents have been after him for quite a few years to find, and I quote, 'a good little wife', so that he will settle down and produce the next generation. However, love seems to elude the man, and it's his hope that we can help him in that regard."

Leslie's gaze became speculative. "Hmm. I have an idea. Why don't we arrange for him to meet up with Cupid, so he can get his explanation directly from the source?" She caught Roarke's look. "Come on, Father, there's got to be _some_ reason Cupid hasn't shot that arrogant jerk by now. Are you saying he's never been married?"

"Never even been in love," Roarke affirmed. "He claims it's merely because no woman has ever truly caught his fancy."

"Really? Are you sure? How could someone with such a brilliant wit and sparkling personality possibly have missed being snapped up by some pretty young thing? After all, he's the utter epitome of charm, grace and poise…not to mention sterling manners," Leslie said, poisonously sweet-voiced. In spite of himself Roarke had to control a wayward smile. "But of course, there's the topper—he's filthy, dirty, rotten, stinking rich. And we all know there's not a woman alive who can resist a rich man."

"I am quite happy to see you're so willing to welcome him and make his stay as enjoyable as you possibly can," Roarke said in a pointed but teasing tone. Their gazes met for a long moment; then he smiled and she let out a long frustrated groan.

"All right already. I give up—obviously he's here and there's nothing I can do about it now. I ask only one favor. Whatever else you do with him, please, I'm begging you—_don't_ put me in charge of his fantasy, or I'll start thinking you're a true sadist."

Roarke laughed heartily. "I'll see what I can do, Leslie." He deftly plucked a delicate champagne flute off the tray presented by a native girl and raised it. "My dear guests! I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!"

Simon Lightwood-Wynton looked startled by the welcome; then his gaze met Leslie's and he sneered before noticing that Roarke, too, was watching him. Quickly he changed the sneer to an insincere smile and then hid the lower half of his face behind the wide, shallow bowl of the glass containing his tropical drink. Leslie rolled her eyes in disgust and Roarke smiled serenely.

‡ ‡ ‡

Simon Lightwood-Wynton's clipped, brisk British lilt somehow brought Mephistopheles to Leslie's mind; she wondered flippantly if they happened to know each other. "I'm a busy man, Mr. Roarke," their visitor said. "This trip really was a last resort for me, to placate my mother and father. It's not enough for them that my younger sister and brother have produced offspring. Oh no, the firstborn absolutely must present the family with progeny. Unfortunately, I've not met a suitable woman in all the years I've looked. Actually, women are such flighty, foolish creatures, don't you agree? I've yet to encounter a single one who puts the lie to this." Leslie clenched her teeth and told herself to rise above this idiot. "Not a one out there with anything resembling a brain in her head. They fail to understand so many things that are important to a man. They're all obsessed with fashion and makeup, and can never seem to stop talking."

"Mr. Lightwood-Wynton," Roarke said, "are you looking for a wife, or a servant?"

Simon stared at him, and one quick squall of laughter escaped Leslie before she could regain control over herself. When Simon looked at her, she had a too-innocent expression on her features. He snorted and gestured at her. "There, Mr. Roarke, is a perfect example of what I've found," he said snidely.

"Indeed? Then you have found many young women who were perfectly willing to give you a fair chance? Who have their own hopes and dreams and plans for the future? If there are truly so many women out there like my daughter, then I fail to see why you're having such a problem finding someone suitable," said Roarke.

For once Simon looked flustered. "I think we're straying from the subject at hand," he said. "I just want a woman who knows exactly what a man wants and needs."

"Without being told?" Roarke inquired. "That's quite a tall order, Mr. Lightwood-Wynton. No woman is capable of mind-reading. Furthermore, not all men want exactly the same things out of life. Surely you are well aware of that."

"Very well, then," said Simon impatiently, "I want a woman who knows exactly what I want and need."

"Again—without being told?" Roarke repeated, a bit pointedly.

"Shouldn't it be obvious?" Simon demanded. "I am the scion of a very old and distinguished family, Mr. Roarke. Many of us have gone on to stellar careers in a wide variety of professions. I am the direct descendant of the silent-film director Niles Cameron, and I am distantly related to one of the singers in a very well-known eighties group. I myself am a very prominent banker in the city; whole futures rest in my hands."

"My goodness," said Leslie, blinking with exaggerated amazement. "And how many widows and orphans have you thrown out on the streets of your fair city?"

Roarke gave her a highly disapproving look. "Leslie," he said warningly.

Simon waved her off. "Let her be," he said. "She's so deliciously easy to provoke, I do it mainly for the sake of entertainment. If it weren't for her, I'd be frightfully bored." Roarke eyed him with dubious surprise, and Leslie tried to wipe all expression from her face, deeply annoyed with herself for constantly rising to Simon's bait. "However, this doesn't pertain to the business at hand. What it boils down to, Mr. Roarke, is whether you can give me my fantasy. You've heard what it is I want. Now, can you do it?"

Roarke regarded him, letting the silence stretch out just till Simon's expression began to grow impatient; then he smiled, just a little. "I believe I can, but I am afraid you'll have to allow me some time," he said, a trace of apology in his voice.

"Well enough, then," Simon said, surprisingly agreeable. "Oh yes…and do you know someone who can repair this?" He lifted the briefcase he'd carried off the plane; only then did Roarke and Leslie see that in fact it was a sleek laptop computer.

"As a matter of fact," Roarke said, "we have an excellent computer specialist in town. Leslie will take you there, and I am sure he will be happy to help you. Afterward, if you wish, you may either take some time to rest in your bungalow, or—"

Simon interrupted, "I'd rather be left to my own devices, Mr. Roarke. I make it a point to take a walk in my gardens each day, and I haven't had the opportunity to walk as yet today. I assume your daughter knows a good walking spot."

"That she does," Roarke said. "Very well, then. Enjoy yourself."

"Thank you," Simon said brusquely and then looked at Leslie. "Well, are you going to take me to this computer specialist or not?"

Leslie studied him coolly. "What's the magic word?" she asked.

Simon stared at her in astonishment; then his gray eyes sparked with sudden indignation. "Please," he snapped gracelessly.

Instantly Leslie was bright and angelic, smiling warmly at him. "Of course I'll take you to the specialist. Right this way, my good man." She led the way out; Simon tossed Roarke a sharp look, then followed her. Roarke settled into his chair, shaking his head and wondering facetiously how he'd managed to fail to teach his daughter more than the smallest trace of tact. Though he didn't realize it, he was smiling slightly as he turned to the day's paperwork.

"Well," Simon remarked acidly, sitting back in the passenger seat of the rover, "I see this place is as relentlessly American as ever. You still drive on the wrong side of the road, and I see you use American spellings on all the signs. For God's sake, you even use American currency. I thought this place was sovereign in its own right. Why on earth don't you have your own money?"

"Ah yes, ever the banker," Leslie said lightly. "I should've known you'd like to talk about money. Is this about drumming up some business for your own bank?"

"Well, it certainly would behoove you to deal in British pounds sterling, rather than American dollars," Simon said. "The pound has always been worth more than the dollar, and there is little doubt it's more economically sound. Or, if you absolutely must pander to the entire world's fantasies—never mind the Americans—" He managed to make the last word sound like a disfiguring disease, and Leslie tightened both hands around the steering wheel to keep from delivering a solid punch to his jaw. "—then you could always use the euro. An up-and-coming currency, as I understand it. How much farther have we to go?"

Leslie rounded a bend and the town square appeared before them. "It's right in here. Another thirty seconds." She pulled up directly in front of her destination, parked and got out; Simon followed suit and trailed her to the storefront, peering at the name on the sign mounted over the covered walkway that fronted all the shops. "Enstad Computer Services?" he said. "Is this outfit reliable?"

"The best anywhere," Leslie said. "Not that you have much choice, because this is the only place on the island that can help you with this particular problem."

"Then in that case," Simon said flatly, "I want to see the owner."

"No problem," Leslie replied, a thread of anticipation curling through her—not just about seeing Christian, but about how he might handle the confrontation she knew Simon was going to instigate. She pushed open the door to Christian's office and was happy to see that everyone was there except for Anton, who presumably was out on a call.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- August 17, 2002

Christian looked up and brightened with surprise. "Hello, what can I do for you?" he inquired, noting that Leslie had a guest with her.

"I want to see the owner," Simon snapped again at Leslie. "You told me I would, but all I see is a group of lackeys at their desks."

Leslie watched Christian's eyebrow go up; he arose as if to follow suit and eyed Simon speculatively. "I'm the owner," he said, his voice a bit cooler.

Simon turned to him, opened his mouth, and froze. "You…_you_ own this place?" he asked faintly, his face turning red. "But…bloody hell…you're Prince Christian…" Leslie gaped at him in astonishment; when Simon actually bowed at Christian, her mouth fell open.

Christian cast her a questioning glance; she wished she could explain to him with more than just a helpless shrug and an eye-roll. Simon stood up straight, then turned to Leslie and demanded, "What on earth are you people doing with a royal here? You might have warned me he was here! Either you or Roarke—truly, I must have been mad to think you two wanted to help me—but, well, I'm here, and I may as well make the best of it." He seemed to become aware of Christian's curious stare and snapped to military attention, his face filled with a deference that looked utterly foreign on him. "I apologize, Your Highness. I really didn't expect to find royalty on this backward little island."

Unable to help herself, Leslie narrowed her eyes and glared at him. "We have the best of everything here, _Mister_ Lightwood-Wynton, including computer services…and Prince Christian is the best there is."

Christian, taking in the scene, came out from behind his desk and regarded Simon with a cool curiosity. "What would the problem be, then?" he asked. Leslie, hearing the regal tone in his voice, wondered if it was unintentional, or if he was doing it deliberately this time. Either way, it delighted her to see Simon immediately knuckle under to it.

"My laptop, Your Highness," Simon said politely. "It's quite slow to boot up, and much of the time the keyboard fails to work properly. It's difficult to do any work unless I have an operational apparatus, and I would certainly appreciate your taking the time to look it over and perhaps fix the trouble." Again he bowed.

"Let me look at it," Christian requested, still using his "royal" voice. He was ultra-polite, of course, but there was that hint of command there that Simon—himself a native of a monarchy—recognized almost instinctively, and automatically responded to. Simon gave Christian the laptop, and Christian retreated to his desk with it, opening it and giving it an initial once-over, running a finger across a row of keys and frowning at something. After a moment of thoughtful silence, he looked up, noticed Simon's impatient stance and Leslie's strained tolerance, and seemed to come to a decision. "I think I can help you, but I'll have to ask you to leave this here overnight. At the very least it needs to be cleaned, and I'll want to examine it more carefully to see if there's anything else wrong with it."

"Of course, Your Highness, of course," Simon agreed with still another bow. "I'll be more than happy to leave it in your capable care. I do thank you." He gave Leslie a disgusted look. "Now that we've taken care of my laptop, take me to a place where I can have my walk, as I'm accustomed to doing. And hurry it up; I don't have all day. Mr. Roarke is likely to have made some progress on my fantasy by the time I've finished, and you should be ready to come for me and take me back to the main house."

"Very well," murmured Leslie, only just managing not to add a sarcastic "Your Highness" to this. She didn't suppose Christian would appreciate the joke anyway…or then again, he might, but she wasn't quite willing to chance it. She glanced at Christian, who had been looking on, and was surprised to see a mischievous light in his eyes.

"I thank you for your business," he said, coming out from behind the desk again and addressing Simon. "If you'll leave the telephone number of your bungalow, I'll call you when your machine is ready. And as for you…" He smiled at Leslie, curled a hand around the side of her neck and kissed her—a touch more intimately than he really should have, just enough to make Leslie want to find some secluded place to be alone with him for an hour or two.

When he pulled back, they both saw Simon's totally shocked expression. "What on earth…?" he asked faintly, gawking at them.

"Oh, you didn't know?" said Christian casually. "Leslie is my wife." Behind them, Julianne and Jonathan—both of whom had been watching the entire thing in fascinated silence—began to snicker, trying hard to suppress themselves but not succeeding too well. Simon's jaw dangled; his mouth formed an "oh…" and he turned and wandered out the door without another word. As soon as it had closed behind him, Julianne and Jonathan both let their mirth consume them. Christian glanced at them in tolerant amusement and gathered Leslie in close. "What's the story with that character?" he asked her.

"He's just a guest," Leslie said, making a face.

"Oh…" Christian cleared his throat and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Maybe I shouldn't have done what I did."

"Oh yes you should," Leslie told him, giggling in delight. "He's a pompous, arrogant piece of work, and he's been begging to be taken down about a hundred pegs ever since I first met him years ago. I have to drop him off someplace, but I promise to tell you everything if you can meet Father and me for lunch."

Christian grinned. "To be honest, I didn't like his treatment of you at all. Since he recognized me as the prince, and since I noticed what he was doing to you, I thought I'd take advantage just a bit. I look forward to hearing this story. Uh-oh, here he comes. You'd better run, my Rose."

"Terrific," Leslie muttered, and he chuckled. With a rueful grin she planted a kiss on his lips. "Thank you, my love—you're one heck of an actor."

Christian laughed softly and they hugged briefly before she started toward the door. As she pushed it open she heard him say humorously, "All right, the two of you, enough fun —it's back to work for you." She grinned to herself for a moment, let the door close behind her and carefully schooled her expression for Simon's benefit, feeling much better.

To her utter disbelief, Simon sketched her a shallow bow. "If you would be so kind as to take me to a place for my walk…" he suggested with a deference that stunned her.

"Of course," she managed, her one thought to get rid of him as soon as humanly possible. "Would the beach be sufficient?"

"Anything," said Simon. On that note they got into the car and she drove him through the square and down a back lane to a beach that was popular with locals and guests alike; she herself had avoided it for years because it was the same beach where she, Michiko and Myeko had once found Teppo, surrounded by gawkers, during one of his periods of possession by the god Lempo. During the week she and Christian had first been getting to know each other, he had brought her here to spend a few hours, learned about the memory she associated with it, and talked her through it. These days it was his favorite place to take a long, hard run whenever he needed to burn off frustration or a stressful day.

"This is one of the favorite beaches on the island," Leslie told Simon, gesturing at their left. "The sand is perfect for a good walk…in fact my husband runs here periodically."

"If Prince Christian likes it, then it must be a fine place," Simon said, making her stare at him in astonishment. "Very well, thank you…Princess." Before she could gather enough of her wits back together to tell him she wasn't actually a princess, he got out of the car and headed for the sand. Leslie sat there with the engine running, staring after him for a full thirty seconds before suddenly seeing the humor in the situation and beginning to laugh to herself, quickly backing the car out before Simon happened to overhear her.

Simon paused on the edge of the sand, looked at his shiny Italian shoes and began to remove them, wondering why he'd let that infuriating young woman intimidate him enough to make him agree to a walk on the beach. He still couldn't believe she was actually married to Prince Christian. What did he see in her, anyway? Simon tugged off his black socks, carefully poked them well into the shoes, and struck off across the sand, determined to make the best of a bad choice. There were too many people here for his liking, and he wished he'd had the presence of mind to insist that Leslie take him to some garden. He much preferred the solitude of a path through carefully tended shrubbery and flower beds, with the only sound the buzz of bees collecting nectar, to a crowded beach with the relentless and overwhelming roar of the ocean washing onshore. He really should have said something; maybe it had been her remark that the prince liked this beach that had made him agree, not wishing to offend royalty. Simon grumbled a curse to himself and started along, grimacing at the grainy sand on his feet, doggedly ignoring the people he passed, who were staring at him in disbelief at his attire. He was still clad in the very expensive, tailored business clothing he had worn on the flight here from Hawaii, and thus really stood out.

Unaware of exactly how much like a silly milord he actually looked, he continued on, a scowl on his aristocratic features. Lost in his disgruntled thoughts, he didn't realize he was slowly gravitating toward the waterline, and it was therefore a very rude shock to him when he felt seawater splash across him. To add insult to injury, a light feminine laugh tinkled in his ear, and he whipped around to glare. "How dare you—"

The face before him made the words die in his throat. Never had he seen such lovely features, such gentle eyes, such a sweet smile. Long golden waves spilled over her shoulders and back; she was dressed in some gauzy white thing that drifted with the slightest breeze and currently was damp with seawater at the hem. Amusement sparkled in those bright blue eyes, and again she let out a tinkling laugh that completed the spell she was weaving around him. He knew she was doing it, and he willingly let her.

"I apologize," she said, her voice putting images into his stolid mind that he had never even thought to entertain. He stood there making absurd comparisons of her voice to soft bells or babbling brooks, while she went on, "I didn't mean to upset you, but it seems quite warm today, and you looked as if you needed a break. Aren't you much too warm in that suit? Wouldn't you rather go in freedom?"

"Freedom?" Simon echoed stupidly, eyes fixed on her face. "Oh…perhaps…it simply never occurred to me, I suppose…normally I loathe the beach, actually."

She managed to look shocked. "It's my favorite place to be," she said, and instantly it was Simon's favorite too. "Come with me, and I'll show you how wonderful it is."

At this point Simon felt the ocean breeze engulf him and looked down at himself to find his clothing gone, replaced by a pair of navy-blue swim trunks. A loud wolf whistle quivered through the air, and he looked around to see quite a few admiring female eyes on him. Another jingling laugh brought his attention back to his companion. "Isn't that better, now?" she asked with a bright smile.

"Much," Simon agreed, deciding this must be one of Roarke's odd abilities or something. The stories about this island were legend; and he'd been here twice before, so he knew better than to discount them completely, though he was too pragmatic to simply buy into them altogether. But he was too entranced, too enamored, to bother himself with trivialities. "Why, this air feels simply divine."

"Of course!" she said happily, twirling once there in the shallows. "And the water feels even better! Do come in with me, won't you?" She didn't wait for his answer, but took his hand and led him into the surf. Docilely Simon followed her, merely wanting to be where she was. If she took him to the bottom of a volcano or into airless outer space, he'd go.

He couldn't help himself at all. In the water he reached for her and traced the fine line of her delicate jaw, reached up to gather strands of her golden hair between his fingers, lost himself in the blue depths of her eyes. She watched him with the faintest of smiles, patiently treading water. "You are…utterly lovely," he said inadequately. "Please, tell me your name."

"Gaia," she said. "Just call me Gaia. And you are…?"

"Simon," he murmured, eyes fixed on her mouth. "Simon Lightwood-Wynton…" So saying, he kissed her. He just couldn't restrain himself.

To his delighted surprise, not only did she allow his touch, she responded. Simon lost awareness of the whole world around him; if he drowned here in the ocean it was fine with him, just as long as he was in her arms when it happened. He was already drowning in her. When she gently parted their lips and smiled at him, he felt as if half of him had been torn away. "Oh, don't," he pleaded vaguely, leaning toward her.

"I promised to show you the beach and its wonders," Gaia said, "and I don't back down on my promises, my dear Simon. Let me do this for you. I have only these precious few hours here and I dare not waste them."

Alarm flooded him. "Only hours? But surely you—"

"I am more than happy to spend them with you, my dearest," she assured him. "Come with me now." And he agreed, his only wish to do anything she asked of him.

They spent their morning diving in the shallows, watching small fish gliding through the water, seagulls wheeling overhead, shells washing onshore, waves rolling in. As often as she'd let him, Simon kissed her, touched her face, held her hand. He needed to thank Roarke for this amazing feat he'd pulled off. His parents would adore Gaia, he knew it. She was everything he wanted, everything he needed. When he asked her to come walking with him in the nearest garden, she agreed, thrilling him; and they walked hand in hand up the access lane where Leslie had first dropped Simon off, through the town square in plain view of anyone and everyone there, and along the road till they reached a path that would take them to the pond and Japanese teahouse. There, Katsumi Miyamoto greeted them with a refined bow and served them tea, and Simon shared his cup with Gaia, not once taking his eyes from her as they sipped and savored. He looked forward to savoring her.


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- August 17, 2002

"Oolong," said Christian disgustedly, crossing the porch to the table where Roarke and Leslie waited for him to join them. They looked at him in surprise, and he paused long enough to plant a greeting kiss on his wife's lips before taking his usual chair.

"What about oolong?" Roarke inquired curiously.

"You have a guest from England here, don't you?" Christian asked. "An insufferable type who seems to think Leslie is his personal target? She brought him to my office so that he could leave his laptop with me for service…and I've never seen such a poorly-cared-for machine in all the time I've worked with computers." He rolled his eyes expressively, making Roarke and Leslie laugh. "Cleaning the case and the keys wasn't even close to enough to bring it back to proper working condition. I've spent my entire morning working solely on that laptop, because it's in such terrible shape. It's a miracle it works at all."

"So what's oolong got to do with it?" Leslie asked.

Christian snorted, shaking his head. "The man must subsist on it," he said. "He must also have money to burn on endless supplies of it, because he apparently spills it on a regular basis—all over his laptop. It's seeped into the keyboard and started to coat things inside and leave residue all over…" He snorted again. "I hope he has a large bank account. This is such delicate work, it's going to cost him a significant number of his precious British pounds sterling."

"How do you know it's oolong?" Roarke asked, greatly amused.

"My niece Cecilia is addicted to it," said Christian. "It makes it all the worse for me, because I myself hate tea. Always have, always will. I'll drink anything but that. And I've had to work with the scent of oolong around my head the entire morning."

"Poor Christian," Leslie teased, patting his arm. "Actually, you might get a good laugh out of this, my love. You intimidated the heck out of the guy once he recognized you—to the point that he actually addressed me as Princess!" Christian stared at her in astonishment for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"I seem to have missed something," Roarke hinted humorously. "What happened?"

Christian, still laughing, turned to him. "Forgive me, I neglected to mention that your guest got one look at me and knew immediately who I was. He actually bowed at me—no fewer than three times. When he first called me 'Prince Christian', it crossed my mind to set him straight, till I saw the way he was treating Leslie. I didn't understand the whole story, of course, but I thought it the better part of valor to practice discretion, and waited until he had given me his laptop, been deferential to me, and then barked out an order at Leslie." He glanced a little sheepishly at his father-in-law. "I then came out and deliberately gave Leslie a goodbye kiss, which completely shocked him, and when he asked, I told him she's my wife. If he had been the type to faint, I think he would have."

Roarke shook his head, an indulgent twinkle in his eye that gave him away despite the stern expression he conjured up for Christian's benefit. "For shame."

"To tell you the truth," Christian admitted, "something about him brought my father to mind, and out came Mr. Incorrigible again." That sent Roarke and Leslie into another round of laughter, and Christian chuckled with them and curiously lifted the lid on a silver serving dish to see what was in it. "Exactly who is he, anyway?"

"His name is Simon Lightwood-Wynton, and he lives in London," Roarke explained. "He comes from quite a rich family and, according to him at any rate, apparently is related to two well-known entertainment figures. This is his third visit here."

Christian paused in surprise. "I thought you had a rule about that."

Roarke looked back and forth between him and Leslie. "It seems you two truly don't keep secrets from each other." He laughed when Christian and Leslie exchanged a sheepish look. "Yes, I do in fact; but on the previous two occasions, Mr. Lightwood-Wynton came with others who had fantasies. Given the slightest provocation, Leslie will be more than happy to regale you with those stories."

Christian turned to her in time to see the dirty look she awarded her highly-amused father across the table. "Do tell," he said with intense interest. "I'd like to know why he treats you as a lazy servant. Hmm…maybe _that's_ what reminds me of my father." At their laughter he grinned and urged, "Go ahead, my Rose."

While they were serving themselves and eating, Leslie told Christian about Simon's other two trips to the island; the first story had Christian laughing so much he didn't make much of a dent in his lunch. "I always thought," Leslie remarked with a significant look at Roarke, "that I must have done something incredibly heinous somewhere down the line, to be stuck playing a combination of babysitter and prison warden to that guy."

"You were merely the logical choice, Leslie," Roarke said. "You and he were close in age, and you would thus have had the best knowledge of places that teenagers would choose to frequent. It was never intended to be a punishment."

"I wondered," Leslie said, shaking her head, and Christian laughed again, catching her attention. "Oh, you'll like this, Christian. The second time he came here, he was part of that tornado-chaser's tour group."

Christian's eyes widened. "The one you told me about having accompanied yourself in an attempt to cure your fear of storms?"

"The very same," she said ruefully.

He started to chuckle again, helplessly, shaking his head. "That's hard to believe. I can't picture him doing something so frivolous. That would have been something I'd have enjoyed doing, believe me…but him? I wonder why he did it."

"He said something about wanting to see one chewing up the terrain, or something like that," Leslie remembered. "And since tornadoes are overwhelmingly American, I'm sure he was thinking it was some sort of poetic justice. He hates anything American, and I think that's why he treats me as he does, because I'm a native of the states."

"Ah…enlightenment," Christian said humorously. "So it's another case of British resentment against the rebellious colonies. I know more than enough about rebelliousness, so you can rest assured I'm on your side, my Rose." She grinned. "Is it prying, Mr. Roarke, to ask why he's here this time?"

"He has a fantasy—his own in this case," Roarke said. "He wants to find a wife."

That stopped Christian altogether for a moment to stare at him. "Then that partially explains the interesting sight I saw around eleven or so. He was crossing the town square with a very pretty blonde woman…and he was dressed only in a swimsuit."

"You're kidding," Leslie exclaimed in disbelief. "Stuck-up, straitlaced Simon Lightwood-Wynton wearing only a bathing suit?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure it was the same man who left me his laptop," Christian said with a shrug. "Seems he's found the woman he wants, and she must have really cast a spell on him if he was willing to wander around in public without being dressed to the top, as we say in _jordiska_. As I said, something about him reminds me of my father, and seeing my father in only a swimsuit—especially in public—would have brought forth screaming headlines for days throughout the country, shocked the family, and made me either become very sick, die laughing, or simply drop from a massive coronary."

Giggling madly, Leslie shook her head. "Christian Carl Tobias," she mock-scolded him. "How disrespectfully nasty of you."

"Did I hear a cat somewhere?" Roarke wondered, causing the Enstads to explode with laughter. In the middle of all this, Mariki came out and surveyed their plates.

"This is hopeless," she remarked, shaking her head. "Not a one of you has finished."

"We were indulging in a little thing called dinner conversation," Leslie said. "You may have heard of it. Give us another twenty minutes, Mariki, before you come out expecting us to set a new record for speed eating."

Christian peered at her. "Has our lunch hour been shortened, then?"

Mariki cleared her throat. "You've been out here half an hour already."

"Leisurely lunch," said Roarke, Christian and Leslie all at the same time, surprising each other as much as they did Mariki, who threw her hands in the air and left them to their latest round of amusement. After a moment or two Roarke focused on Christian. "You say you saw Mr. Lightwood-Wynton with a woman? What did she look like, if I may ask?"

"There's no reason you shouldn't ask," Christian said. "He's your guest, I should think you have a right to know that. She seemed to be quite pretty, at least from the distance at which I saw her. She had long golden hair—really golden, that is, like the metal itself. She was slender and was wearing a white dress of some sort, and that was all, I think."

"I see," Roarke murmured.

"Is she someone you know, Father?" Leslie asked.

Roarke glanced up. "Perhaps. Thank you, Christian—why don't you and Leslie enjoy the meal before you both must return to work. As for me…please excuse me." He arose at their nods and departed, leaving them watching him in curiosity for a moment.

"Well, that's interesting," Christian said. "If he happens to confide in you later, Leslie, you'll have to tell me Monday morning. She actually was very pretty, and he was staring at her as if there were nothing else in the universe."

"And it sounded like Father recognized her," Leslie mused. "This is going to be a very interesting fantasy." She studied him as he downed a few gulps of raspberry lemonade. "He was staring at her as if there were nothing else in the universe…? Are you really sure it was Sniping Simon you saw?"

Christian shrugged. "Leslie, they were halfway across the square. I don't have Superman's visual abilities. Would that be so unusual for him?"

"Yes, it would," Leslie said, then smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, my love, I just find it amazing to picture. I mean…the day Simon Lightwood-Wynton falls in love—"

Christian raised an eyebrow at her. "Sooner or later, we all fall in love, my Rose. Even I fell in love eventually, so why not your friend?"

"_Even_ you?" Leslie clucked her tongue. "Christian, my darling, you're nothing like Simon Lightwood-Wynton. And he's not my friend."

With a grin Christian got up, knelt beside her chair and turned her head towards his. "I'm happy to hear we're polar opposites. But you know better than to question that 'even', don't you, after all I've told you? If I can fall in love, there may be hope for that self-styled lord you're forced to host for the third time. May the third time be the charm."

"May Prince Christian's decree be heard and obeyed," she murmured teasingly, and they snickered before he leaned in and kissed her.

They indulged themselves for a long two minutes or so; then Christian, gathering his fast-vanishing self-control, drew back and regarded her wistfully. "My choices here are to sneak away with you, or go back to that tea-covered laptop." He shook his head woefully. "There's just no question which is preferable."

"Unfortunately, there's equally little question which takes precedence," Leslie said with regret. They exchanged rueful smiles and both stood up. "Here, my love, why don't you take a couple of those sandwiches with you? We talked more than we ate this meal, and I don't want you starving to death."

He grinned and picked up two of the crab-salad sandwiches Mariki had made to accompany their French-onion soup and thinly-sliced roast beef. "Little chance of that," he said, "but I'd like to smell something other than oolong all afternoon. I'll wait till Mariki comes back so I can get enough of that delicious lemonade to see me through the day."

"Should I get you some air freshener too?" she teased, and they laughed softly and kissed again. Mariki caught them at it.

"So that's why you haven't cleaned your plates," she scolded. They broke apart and eyed her indulgently.

"We decided to make lunch a take-out affair," Christian kidded. "I have a massive and delicate project that's going to take up the remainder of my workday, and I wanted to ask you if you could send me back to work with enough of that lemonade to help counteract the smell of oolong. And maybe some dessert if you have any."

"I have freshly-sliced mango," Mariki said, looking mollified, "and I'll get you that lemonade right away, Prince Christian. Take two more of those sandwiches, and Miss Leslie, you have another one too." She bustled off without waiting for an answer; Leslie grinned and picked up a sandwich.

Christian shook his head, amused. "She's always done this to you?"

"Ever since I moved to this island," said Leslie, "someone's been after me to eat. When I first came here, Father's cook was a sweet Hawaiian grandmother named Mana'olana, and she was always gently urging me to take a few more bites, have a little more dessert, that sort of thing. When she retired and Mariki took over, Mariki just picked up the ball and ran off with it…with a vengeance."

Christian laughed. "So she did! Fortunately, she's such an excellent cook, I'm usually willing to overlook her carrying on. Notice I said 'usually'." They were still chuckling when Mariki returned with a large jar and a covered plastic bowl full of fruit. Seeing Christian quickly grab another sandwich off the plate, she nodded firmly with approval.

"Better," she pronounced. "Maybe you'll teach Miss Leslie something."

Christian laughed again when Leslie groaned and eyed the ceiling. "Tell you what," he said, "wrap up the rest of those sandwiches for me and I'll take them home with me tonight. If my suspicions are correct, I'll have to work through my lunch tomorrow in order to finish that cleaning project in time, and I may as well have something to fortify myself with. However, I intend to close at the regular time this evening and get a good night's sleep tonight. So I'll see you and Mr. Roarke for dinner, my Rose."

"Good," Leslie said and kissed him. "Have a good afternoon, and my sympathies are with you about that tea. I hate the stuff too." Mariki shook her head at them.

"I'd comment," she said, "but since Prince Christian's offered to take the sandwiches, I'll let it go this once. They'll be ready for you to take home when you come back for dinner, then." She picked up the plate and toted it off to the kitchen, and once more Christian and Leslie kissed, wished each other a good day and reluctantly parted ways for the afternoon.

A scant five minutes later, Simon and Gaia meandered along the lane with half an eye toward asking Roarke if they could join him for lunch; but they saw only Mariki clearing the table. "Quite a shame," Simon remarked benignly, fingering Gaia's hair. "That woman is an excellent cook. I've thought of buying her off Roarke and taking her home to cook for me."

"You can't simply purchase a human being, Simon, my dear," Gaia scolded him gently. "This is her home and she's happy here. Surely you can find someone equally talented."

Simon shrugged. "Ah, it's nothing. I do regret having missed lunch, but there are other places around here. Gaia, my sweet Gaia…please, all I ask of you is that you give me the incredible pleasure of your company at all my meals, and the joy of your company with me tonight. To be away from you for even a moment simply tears me apart."

Gaia smiled at him, then tilted away from him long enough to trail her hand in the fountain. "Roarke does know how to decorate," she mused. "Every time I'm here I marvel at the beauty of this place." She cupped her hands together under the spouting jet of water and let it splash in her palms, sparkling in the summer sun. "Have you never played with the water in a fountain? Never even dropped a coin inside and made a wish? Did you ever just sit and watch children at play outside your window?"

"There's no time," said Simon, looking bewildered. "I have my work…very important work. I haven't the time for those sorts of frivolities."

"Then you must make the time," Gaia said serenely. "Come here to me, my dear Simon, and let the water cool your hands."

"This would have shocked the family," Simon said, hesitantly reaching for the falling spray as if it might burn him. "Lightwood-Wyntons just don't do this. Have you any idea the sort of home I was raised in? Quite rich, never lacking for anything at all. Sometimes the servants were unforgivably lazy, but they were easily replaced. I learned to cherish order and quiet. I must have them in my life…as essential as breathing. I simply cannot abide disorder, clutter, churlishness, lack of deference, insubordination, incorrigibility…those who don't know their place are an absolute thorn in my side." And he rattled on for a while in this vein, while Gaia played with the fountain water and glanced at him from time to time. To an observer, it would have seemed as though she were lost in her own world while Simon rambled away; but if that were the case, he didn't notice. There was some compulsion in him to tell her everything about himself, to explain to her why he was the way he was. She never commented, just let him chatter.

They stood there long enough that eventually they had to be seen by someone, and as luck would have it, that someone was Roarke. Unnoticed by either Simon or Gaia, he paused on the porch and listened to the sound of Simon's voice telling Gaia what amounted to his life story, and wondered precisely what his longtime acquaintance had in mind for the young man. She had promised to help, but now he wasn't quite sure it had been the best thing he could have done for Simon Lightwood-Wynton. Gaia was more than she appeared to be. He recalled Christian's vague description of her at lunch and found himself curiously relieved that his son-in-law had seen Gaia only from a distance. Too often she had that effect on mere mortal men. But in this case, drastic measures had seemed to be called for, and he had acted accordingly. If he could ever tear the besotted Englishman away from Gaia long enough, he intended to have a little chat with the lady.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- August 17, 2002

"Must you go, then?" Simon murmured protestingly, still lost in her. They'd had dinner at the pond restaurant and then retreated to his bungalow—after a great deal of coaxing and even begging on his part—where he had simply held and kissed and touched her. He couldn't possibly resist her. She allowed all this, even responded, but some tiny piece of him had begun to sense that he didn't have her whole devotion, and this was beginning to spark desperation in him. No other woman would do; he was determined to have Gaia and only Gaia.

"I do have an appointment with Roarke," Gaia said. "I promised him I'd drop in to visit at least once while I was here, and I haven't done that yet."

Simon sighed deeply and gave her a sorrowful look. "Promise me you'll return just as quickly as possible," he demanded hopefully. "Immediately after you take your leave of Roarke, come back to me. I want you with me tonight. I _must_ have you with me."

"Dear Simon," Gaia said gently, caressing his cheek. "Very well, I'll return here, and we shall have a lovely night together."

"Promise me," he insisted.

"I never back out on my word when it's given," she said. "I promise you I shall return. Only wait for me, my dear." She smiled at him, arose and left the bungalow, leaving some elusive floral scent behind her and making Simon feel as if someone had torn a hole in his gut. He stared at the door for a long time after it had closed behind her.

After awhile he got restless, arose and paced the floor for a few laps; then, growing tired of this, he decided to wait for Gaia at the main house instead of here, and promptly left the bungalow. The path he took discharged him onto the lane near the main house, and under the indigo sky of deepening dusk, he noticed two figures standing between the fountain and a car parked there, in each other's arms. Not wanting to disturb them, he tried to skulk along the edge of the lawn towards the steps, but then he heard low voices and recognized Prince Christian and Leslie. Despite himself he stopped, again wondering what the prince could possibly see in that smart-mouthed American woman.

"It's always the Saturday nights that are hardest without you, my Rose," Christian said softly. "When I come home, it's usually too early to go to sleep, and I find myself staring at television for a couple of hours. Then I do go to bed, and lie awake wondering what you're doing at that moment."

"Maybe some evening you should stick around and enjoy the luau," Leslie offered, grinning up at him. "It'd make luau duty a lot more fun. Or did you strain your eyes from trying to clean that laptop all day?"

Christian chuckled. "It's coming along well, actually, which is very fortunate, considering the condition it was in. What exactly do you do at those luaus? Maybe I'll join you for next week's, if I'm feeling up to crowds."

"Oh, I forgot…too much of a chance for you to be recognized," Leslie realized. "And we really don't do all that much anyway, my love, just wander around and make sure people are having fun and there aren't any arguments or brawls. I always wind up filching pineapple from the buffet, to tell the truth. If Mariki knew about that, she might quit nagging me to eat." They both laughed softly and hugged each other.

"Well, I suppose I'd really better go," Christian said reluctantly. "I did mention getting a good night's sleep, after all. Although I admit, sometimes I wake up and it seems cold in the room without you there beside me. Not so conducive to sound sleep."

She giggled. "Having that extra night together was supposed to make Saturday and Sunday nights easier for us to bear being apart, not harder. It's really funny, we've been married a year and a half, and I still feel like a newlywed bride with you."

"I feel as if I can never get enough of you," Christian murmured, "and I hope that will always remain true. I love you, my Leslie Rose." Without waiting for a response from her, he drew her in closer against him and kissed her.

It became clear to Simon, whom they had never noticed, that the second the prince kissed his wife, they both forgot there was anybody else in the world; their kiss rapidly grew deep and involved, and he had to turn away with the feeling that he was intruding on something precious and private. His mind turned to Gaia and the night she had promised him, and he began to understand exactly what the prince must be feeling for Leslie. When you were in love, he realized, the object of your affection was perfect in every way. And even after being married all that time, as Leslie had said, they still felt the same passion and love they had felt on their wedding day. Could love really be like that? Simon believed that with Gaia, it would be. _I'm going to propose to her, _he thought, his heart lifting with excitement at the mere idea. _Yes, tomorrow morning, I'll ask her to be my wife._

"I love you so much, my darling," Leslie's soft, dreamy voice carried to him in the still evening air. She sounded quite different with the prince, Simon thought curiously. "I'll miss you tonight and tomorrow."

"And I you, my Rose," Christian's voice replied, as dreamy as hers, before a wistful note crept into it. "While I can still think, I'd better go on home. Sleep well, my darling." Simon watched them kiss once more; then Christian got into the car and the engine started, sounding quite loud in the serene tropical evening. Leslie stood there in the lane and gazed after the car even beyond its disappearance around the bend in the lane, then pushed her hands in her pockets and slowly crossed the lane towards the house. Simon actually felt a little sorry for her; it was clear that she was genuinely in love with the prince, and he could now understand her bereft feeling at his absence, for he felt the same about Gaia.

He made his way along the edge of the lane and caught up with her on the veranda, to her visible surprise. "Did you need to see my father?" she asked, a little guardedly.

"Uh…no, actually, I thought perhaps I might ask you a question or two," Simon said, slightly amazed at himself. "It does actually pertain to my fantasy, so have no fear that it's anything but business. But I find myself curious. How is it that you and the prince…I suppose what I mean is, what brought you together, and what holds you together?"

Leslie looked at him for a moment, as if trying to gauge his sincerity, then smiled just a little and let her gaze wander into the night, back up the lane where the car had gone. "If I knew the exact answer to that, there'd be no one on earth who'd ever have trouble finding someone to love for a lifetime," she said softly. "Christian told me that I was the first woman he'd met who treated him as a regular human being, instead of being distracted by his status as a prince, and that must have been quite a novelty to him. He could've easily fallen for any other woman who treated him the same way. I just got lucky, I guess."

"I see," Simon said, turning this over in his mind. "And you?"

Leslie grinned wistfully. "I'm afraid Christian had to work at it. I'd been widowed for six years when I first met him, and I was afraid to fall in love again. But he…I wish I could explain just what it was that got to me. He was sweet, and funny, and romantic, and very persuasive. He's as stubborn as I am, and when he decided he wanted me, he didn't give up till he got me. But he was always gentle and kind and understanding, and he never pushed me too hard. He just kept chipping away at that armor till it fell off."

"He seems to think it was worth the effort," Simon remarked.

"It was for both of us," Leslie said. "I'd thought, after my first husband died, that I couldn't risk my heart again. But I've come to realize that I love Christian even more than I loved Teppo. Sometimes I feel as if I can't hold all the love I feel for Christian." She focused on him. "Did you find someone like that?"

"I think I did," Simon said quietly. "I truly believe so. I can only hope that she feels as much for me as I do for her. But she seems…elusive. It's quite odd actually. I've spent the day telling her my entire life story, and I still know so little about her."

"Maybe she just needs some extra time," Leslie said. "You met just today, after all."

Simon thought about it. "True. Yet…I've never felt so certain about anything that I can ever remember. I suppose, like the prince, I'll merely have to keep pulling down that armor. If it were only so easy…she caught my heart in seconds."

"Seconds!" echoed Leslie, astonished. "Must be quite a lady."

"She is at that," Simon said. They looked at each other for a few seconds, he assessing, she still a bit wary; then he smiled a little. "I've been a beast to you, every time I've come here," he said, to her sheer disbelief. "I treated you abominably during Mum's visit, and I was little better with the storm-chasing group. When I thought you were being rude and very un-hostess-like, it was merely your paying me back for my boorishness. I know we can never be friends, but I should like to apologize, and continue on in a civil vein. Might we have a chance at that, do you think?"

Privately Leslie reflected that the guy must be seriously in love, to have had his attitude softened up to this extent. _Whoever she is,_ she thought, _more power to her._ She smiled and offered her hand. "I think we have a good chance of it. And I'm sorry too…I have a bad habit of trying to get even when someone's rude to me. I'm a little surprised you even came back, knowing we were going to clash again." They both laughed and shook hands.

Then Simon stepped back once and glanced at the door. "Gaia said she was to see Roarke about something. I presume she's still there…what's taking so long?"

At just that moment, Roarke was facing Gaia with an exasperated expression; they had been talking for half an hour and he felt as if he were getting nowhere. "I'm running out of patience, Gaia," he said, "and that, I must admit, is saying something. When you came here looking to experience love, I granted your request in the hope that you might, indeed, know the sensation. Unfortunately, your heart has remained as untouched as ever. You may look a great deal like your mother, but I believe you inherited your father's cold heart."

"Can I help it that I'm the daughter of Mother Nature and Old Man Winter?" Gaia protested. "It wasn't under my control what characteristics of theirs I ended up with. Mother encouraged me to come. She agreed with you, that it might be good for me. And I truly wished to know the emotion. Roarke, don't you see? I wanted that cold heart to melt! I still do! But this…this young milord, who thinks everyone is beneath him, was not the one I was looking for. He's been rude to most of the people we've met today, and he has done nothing but speak of himself, his problems, his wishes. And for heaven's sake, he seems to think your daughter is the lowest creature ever born."

"That's not your problem," Roarke said, "it's for Leslie to deal with."

"That's as may be," Gaia said. "But I want you to tell me why you paired me up with him. He's an attractive one, yes, and I admit that he has a way of persuading me to remain by his side simply with his kisses and caresses. For a mortal man, he's really quite good at all that. But his personality and character leave much to be desired, and I must tell you I'm very disappointed. Is there some purpose to this match?"

"The young milord, as you call him, needed to learn something as well. Yes, I had a reason for putting the two of you together. It was my hope that you would each influence the other. It seems to me, however, that said influence has been entirely one-sided. You've won the young man over all too easily, from what little I've seen and heard; he is hopelessly infatuated with you, and unless I miss my guess, he is likely to ask for your hand in marriage. If you continue to lead him on as you have been, he will merely leave here a far more bitter man than he was when he arrived. Is that what you had hoped to achieve?"

"I told him I was here only for these few hours," Gaia protested.

Roarke sighed. "Did you truly think that would deter him, considering the strength of his emotion toward you? Mr. Lightwood-Wynton will do everything in his power to persuade you to remain with him for the rest of his life. He's convinced he's deeply in love with you, and he'll stop at nothing to have you. You realize that, don't you?"

"But it wouldn't be possible," Gaia said faintly.

"That's correct," Roarke agreed pointedly. "It most certainly would not. Gaia, if you truly must have the young man, at the very least, you owe it to him to tell him the truth. You need not reveal the full nature of your identity, but you must make it very clear to him that it simply isn't possible for the two of you to be together. By letting him carry on about himself, as you were just complaining he's done, and not volunteering any information about you, you've led him to believe that he has a chance with you. Now," he said, coming out from behind the desk, "I will grant that you have done a marvelous job in changing his attitude. Just before dinner, he approached me and thanked me profusely for bringing you into his life. He even favored Leslie with a polite nod or two. Unfortunately, that little visit was the very thing that convinced me I must have a talk with you; and I'm not certain I've managed to get through to you even now."

"Are you calling me a spoiled child?" Gaia demanded.

"Very much so," said Roarke, "not unlike an extremely spoiled mermaid I once knew. Gaia, immortal or not, you simply must grow up. You cannot continue on into eternity thinking that all attractive young men on this earth are put there solely for your pleasure. If you ever wish to fall truly in love, you must open yourself to someone. You must let down your guard. My daughter learned this lesson, and look at her reward: a deep and abiding love with her husband. If you are ever to know the like, you must give something of yourself, rather than endlessly taking. You've made this mistake yet again with Mr. Lightwood-Wynton, and I daresay I will find myself refunding the price of his fantasy because of you—which, believe me, I will not enjoy."

Gaia hung her head and slowly shook it. "What's wrong with me, Roarke?" she asked plaintively. "Why can't I feel, as all others do? Even my own parents loved each other once, I know that. If my father's cold heart could melt, why not mine?" She met his gaze with tears in her eyes. "I don't love the young milord, but I want to love _someone…"_

"You had better be careful of his heart," Roarke cautioned, his voice gentling a bit. "Before you can move on, you must disentangle yourself of the situation you find yourself in now, and you must do it with the utmost care." He sighed again. "Give yourself to Mr. Lightwood-Wynton—not just physically, but emotionally too. Love is not purely physical, Gaia. The word for that is lust, and there is far less reward in lust for its own sake than in love, which encompasses far more. Perhaps if you let the young man have the chance to touch your heart, you'll find your attitude towards him is not so cold."

"He's practically written his autobiography for me already," Gaia said grumpily, "and not a word of it has given me any hope that I might fall for him. You yourself said that we can never be together anyway."

"You came here to learn about love," Roarke said a little sharply. "There are few enough immortals as it is, and none you've not met; so I was forced to work with what was available. I ask only that, when you do let Simon Lightwood-Wynton down, you do it with care, with warmth, with compassion. Leave the way open for him to take a chance on someone more accessible."

Gaia looked at him, nodded reluctantly and sighed. "Very well. But I promised him this night, and I don't renege on my promises. And I will let him down easy."

"Whatever spell you have cast over him," Roarke warned her, "you had better retract it. The sooner the better."

"The only spell he's under, Roarke, is the spell of that love he thinks he feels for me," she said, looking a little defensive. She saw his skeptical look and shrugged. "I admit, I did cast a spell on him when I first saw him this morning. But when he became less to my liking, I withdrew it. Yet he hasn't changed his attitude toward me."

"Indeed," murmured Roarke with some surprise. He focused on Gaia and shook his head with gentle resignation. "Go, then, but remember my warning."

She nodded, looking contrite, and departed. On the veranda she found Simon pacing back and forth, with Leslie at the railing watching in bemusement; they both stopped and looked at her when she came out the door. "Gaia," Simon exclaimed, "my sweet Gaia." He went right to her, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her as if they hadn't seen each other in a year, and Leslie quickly stole away from them and into the house, where she found Roarke still standing in the middle of the study.

Alerted, she asked, "Okay, Father, who is she, really?"

"Someone Mr. Lightwood-Wynton can never truly have," Roarke said with some regret. "Perhaps I have made an error."

"You?" Leslie said, eyes wide. "How so?"

Roarke chuckled softly. "I have been attempting to grant two fantasies in this case, rather than just one…but when one is dealing with immortals, nothing can be guaranteed. This particular one is Gaia—the daughter of Mother Nature and Old Man Winter."

"And the sister of Jack Frost," Leslie added, grinning at a memory. "Yep, I can see how that'd make things a lot more complicated. The name alone should've tipped me off, but I didn't _know_ her name till just a minute ago when she came out of here and Simon rushed her like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat restaurant." She paused and sobered. "Simon thinks he's in love with her. But there's no way they can ever be together, is there?"

"No," Roarke said quietly. "However, as I told Gaia, I was forced to work with what was available. Gaia has developed something of a reputation as an ice maiden in the immortal world, and none of them would have anything to do with her. Thus, when I received Mr. Lightwood-Wynton's request, I granted it, with the hope that at least one of them would gain something positive from the experience." He sighed. "I am not sure it's been a success. Mr. Lightwood-Wynton stands in great danger of becoming even more embittered than he was when he first arrived here, unless Gaia handles the situation with extreme care. And Gaia herself remains as unmoved as ever. She admitted as much to me herself."

Leslie considered that. "Maybe it's too much influence from her father and brother. I mean, their names are a dead giveaway—Old Man Winter and Jack Frost must by sheer association have cold hearts. If I see her again, I might refer her to Hera."

Roarke eyed her, then laughed unexpectedly. "Trust you, my dear daughter, to find a fresh perspective on a very perplexing problem," he said with appreciation. "So, then, what of you? Did Christian leave for home?"

She sighed and said wistfully, "Yeah…and I have that same lost feeling without him that I always get." Leslie focused curiously on Roarke. "You told Christian during our honeymoon that this arrangement would add some extra spice to our marriage. You were right about that, in spades—but you didn't tell me it was going to be so darn hard without him. It almost feels as if he's back in Lilla Jordsö."

"I note you two have survived quite nicely in these nineteen months you've been husband and wife," Roarke remarked humorously. "A little denial is good for the soul."

"Then by now Christian and I are headed for sainthood," Leslie retorted, and he burst into laughter. "I guess I'll hike over to the luau and see how things are going."

Roarke nodded. "Very well. Don't stay too late." She smiled and left.


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- August 18, 2002

Never before had Simon Lightwood-Wynton gotten so little sleep during a night. It was as if making love with Gaia had fed his energy level, keeping him going all the way into the small hours—and all because he was so addicted to her that he couldn't get enough. He woke now after having slept perhaps three hours, got one look at her lying beside him and woke her with kisses, then made love with her again. And when they finished, he wanted still more of her.

"Simon, you must be completely exhausted," she said, gazing at him in astonishment. "I've never seen a mortal man with that much stamina."

He grinned mischievously. "I was always told I had delusions of godhood. It's nice to see that they were right after all. Ah, my Gaia, you make me feel immortal, believe me. I don't know how I ever got along without you. Say you'll be my wife, will you?"

She stared at him, looking stricken, and he said reassuringly, "You need not answer right away. I'll give you time to think it over, but do let me know. And I hope the answer is the one I dream of hearing. For the moment, dear Gaia, let me take you back to heaven…"

Gaia sighed wistfully and shook her head. "Dearest Simon, you really must get some sleep. You'll be badly tired out if you don't. Lie down here and close your eyes."

"Don't leave my side," he said, a hint of anxiety in his eyes. "Please, Gaia, stay here."

"I'll take care of you," she said gently. "Lie down." He did, eyes on her all the while, until she reached out and tenderly caressed his hair, his face, his back. Her soothing touch lulled him into slumber in just a few minutes. When she was sure he was asleep, she withdrew into herself, and for the first time in countless years, she cried.

They were both asleep when the phone rang over five hours later; Simon and Gaia both started awake, then smiled at each other. "I'll handle it. Stay here," he said, ran a hand over her hair and jumped up, sprinting out to the main room to grab the phone. "Yes?"

"Mr. Lightwood-Wynton? This is Christian Enstad, at Enstad Computer Services. Your laptop is ready for you. You can come and pick it up at any time."

"Oh, yes, Your Highness, thank you—I'll be right there," Simon said and hung up after waiting for Christian's acknowledgement. He cast a cursory glance at the clock and then looked again: it was well past noon. He'd never slept that late in his entire life. Amazed at himself, he hastily changed clothes and called, "Gaia, my dear, I'm going out for just a bit. I'll see you when I return." Eager to collect his machine, settle the bill and get back to Gaia, he all but ran out the door. He felt as though he could fly; he was delirious, crazy in love, and desirous that the entire world should know about his good fortune.

The bell on the door tinkled merrily, making Christian, Julianne, Mateo and Anton all look up curiously. It was the beginning of Jonathan's weekend, so his desk was empty. At sight of Simon, Julianne tried to hide a smirk, remembering all too well what had happened the day before. Christian, with an easy composure born of a lifetime of princehood, arose from his chair and gave Simon an impartial, polite nod. "Your laptop is…"

"My dear prince, you are an inspiration," Simon exclaimed, startling Christian into silence. "I caught a glimpse of you with Princess Leslie last evening…and I finally understood what love can really be like. I've found a lovely, lovely lady, and I intend to marry her if she'll have me, and it's all thanks to you. I don't know how I could ever find the proper words to thank you, Your Highness." Simon bowed, and a squeak of glee came from Julianne's desk, earning her an amused warning glance from Christian before Simon straightened again. "I'm sure that your work on my computer has been of the highest possible quality. You've done me a greater service than merely repairing it, and whatever the cost, it will have been worth every penny. Just show me the bill, my good man…forgive me, Your Highness, I fear I'm giddy today."

"Understandable," murmured Christian, just for something to say, though he had no understanding whatsoever of this man's happy prattling. "Now, I did have to replace some parts that were beyond repair, and there was quite a bit of meticulous and detailed cleaning to be done. But I've tested it, and it's—"

"A miracle worker," Simon crowed happily. "You, Your Highness, are nothing short of a miracle worker. I shall certainly recommend your company to anyone who asks. You do have a branch in London, of course?" Christian began to deny it, but Simon blathered right on. "Here, I believe this should cover it. I thank you once again, Your Highness, and I am ever so grateful to you. I wish you and the princess the very best." He bowed again.

"Actually, I'm no longer—" Christian tried to say.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, did I fall short?" Simon exclaimed, dug in his pocket and extracted another wad of bills to add to those he'd already pressed into Christian's hand. "Here, take this also. Keep the change…thank you ever so much." One more bow; then he grabbed his laptop and all but danced out the door.

At her desk, Julianne dropped her head atop her mouse pad and laughed with all her energy, occasionally pounding a fist onto the desktop. Anton was chortling with disbelief; even Mateo was grinning broadly. For his part, Christian was a little dazed. _"Herregud,"_ he finally mumbled, sinking back into his chair, still staring after Simon.

"I gotta tell Jonathan," Julianne croaked, her face red and her eyes streaming. "I never laughed like that in my life. This dignified Brit acting like a nutcase. Oh, geeeez, that's just so freaking funny!" She collapsed back in her chair, guffawing again.

"Is he the one whose laptop you were laboring over all day yesterday, Christian?" Anton asked curiously. "If so, I'd say you earned all that fulsome praise."

Mateo chuckled loudly, getting astonished looks from the others. "I have to agree with that," he said. "Are you sure he paid the bill in full, Christian?"

"Oh," Christian said, reminded, and looked at the thick sheaf of bills in his hand. His eyes went very wide. _"Herregud,"_ he said again. "He must have cleaned out his pockets. I charged him two hundred fifty for parts and labor…and this is easily twice that."

"Don't chase him to give any of it back to him," Julianne said through her persistent giggles. "You earned it and then some, Boss Prince. I heard you cussing in two languages and complaining about the smell of stale old tea all yesterday afternoon, and I saw you replace a whole pile of tiny little parts. Besides, that goofy flake did tell you to keep the change."

"I don't think he meant for me to keep quite this much of it," Christian said dryly. "It doesn't seem right to just let it go."

"Well, you should," Julianne said. "You could give some of it to Miss Leslie. She's had to put up with him the whole weekend. If Mr. Roarke doesn't give her a bonus just for that, then you could give her half that money and tell her it's from that dingbat."

"Not only that, you came in an hour early today and worked straight through your lunch," Mateo put in. "It's the least that man could do to reimburse you. You never had a chance to work on anything else at all yesterday."

Christian stared at him, then at Julianne, and finally at Anton, who shrugged. "I wouldn't dream of offering a dissenting opinion," he said, grinning.

Christian sighed, shrugged, and then laughed finally. "I suppose I could keep it for spending money for the weekend," he said, shaking his head. "I was going to surprise Leslie with an overnight trip to Hawaii tomorrow and Tuesday anyhow."

"That's the spirit," Julianne said cheerfully. "Cool."

"_But,"_ Christian postscripted with emphasis and a sly grin at her, "not until I've tried at least once to refund the overpayment. It's merely good business. If he insists I keep it after that, then fine—but otherwise it would feel like stealing. I'm far from desperate for money." Something occurred to him and his grin grew contemplative. "A branch in London? That might be worth looking into. The _jordiska_ branch has been reporting quite a bit of business from British travelers in Sundborg."

"You'd become a regular tycoon," Mateo said. "You could stop off and see your family while you're over there."

Christian eyed him curiously, amusement lingering in his eyes. "Really, and do you have a message for anyone?"

Mateo met his gaze just for a moment, smiled faintly and shook his head. "No, it was just a suggestion. But I do think you'd succeed very nicely in England."

"Well, that's for the future," Christian said, wondering briefly if Mateo might have let his guard slip for a bare second. It'd been so long since either he or Anna-Kristina had ever even referred to each other that he thought any attraction between them must have long since died. Well, it was still their affair, he decided. "For now, I'd better go find that man and explain to him that he grossly overpaid me." He chuckled and left the office.

Julianne snorted, watching him go. "I hope Miss Leslie doesn't find out, or that's gonna be one real short trip."

Simon, meanwhile, burst into the bungalow with his laptop. "Gaia, my dear, I'm back! Gaia?" He left the machine atop the coffee table and half ran back to the bedroom—which was empty. Surprise stopped him in his tracks; then he decided she must have gone somewhere for lunch, and decided to go and find her.

By mid-afternoon he had searched everywhere he could and there had been no sign of her; he couldn't bear to give up, and decided at last to ask Roarke for help. Both he and Leslie were in the office when Simon came in, looking bedraggled, discouraged, yet still absurdly hopeful. "So glad to find you in, Mr. Roarke. Have you seen Gaia?"

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lightwood-Wynton, we haven't," Roarke said. "When did you see her last?"

"This morning," Simon said a little breathlessly. "I received a telephone call to let me know that Prince Christian had my laptop ready, and I rushed out to get it. When I came back, Gaia was gone. I've looked all over for her, but she's simply not here."

"Her time here was up," Roarke said gently. "Did she not tell you that she could be here for only a short time?"

"She did say she had only these few hours…" Simon recalled hesitantly, then bolted up straight and stared at him in alarm. "Has she gone already?"

Roarke nodded in sympathy. "Yes, she had to leave."

"But…I asked her to marry me," Simon said, plainly very shocked. Leslie, watching him, found it hard to believe it was the same arrogant, cocky Simon. Now pain gleamed from his eyes. "We had the loveliest night together I've ever known, and I wanted to give her a lifetime of nights like that. Yet she's simply left me."

"Gaia never made a pretense of staying," Roarke said, "did she? It seems to me that her abrupt leave-taking indicates her wish to avoid the pain of saying goodbye. She had no other way to explain to you that she couldn't stay."

Simon wilted gradually into a chair. "But she never refused me. I thought perhaps she was growing to love me."

"It is not Gaia's fate to remain permanently with any one man," Roarke explained. "I am afraid I cannot divulge any more than that to you. But you do have a legacy: she has opened your eyes to much around you."

Simon stared at him. "She spoke yesterday of watching children at play outside the windows, dropping coins in fountains, things of that sort. I didn't understand. But now I think I do. She was trying to tell me to notice the small things in life, the things that seem unimportant yet can mean so much."

Roarke nodded again and smiled warmly. "She would be very pleased to hear that you have come to realize that. Mr. Lightwood-Wynton, don't spend too much of your time grieving the lady's loss. There will be someone suitable, someone who will not only capture your heart, but deserve the gift of it. When you begin to really see the world around you, you also see the possibilities—and that's what Gaia meant to tell you."

Slowly Simon nodded, then looked at Leslie, smiled faintly and said, "Perhaps I'll be as fortunate as you one day and find the sort of love you share with Prince Christian. It seems to me that you and he are very, very happy together. If I can be so lucky, then it will be worth taking the time to search for that special lady. She may never be Gaia, but perhaps she doesn't need to be."

Leslie smiled back. "I hope you do find a love like that. Although I really should tell you…Christian isn't a prince anymore. He hasn't been one for a year now."

Simon blinked. "Oh, surely you jest. Once a prince, ever a prince." He saw Leslie open her mouth and grinned. "Ah, now, he may not be a prince in name…but he's a prince at heart. Believe me, I've dealt with enough royalty to know it when I see it. It just seemed wrong not to address him by his proper title. Although, I have to admit, it's a great relief to find that it isn't necessary for me to call you 'princess'." They all laughed, and Simon arose. "Well, I do thank you for your time and efforts, Mr. Roarke. If you'll pardon me, I think I'll do a bit of a tour around the island, and perhaps be lucky enough to find someone who's interested in accompanying me. Good day to you both." He nodded at them and left.

"So he actually did address you as 'princess', then," Roarke said, amused.

"I almost let him go on believing it," Leslie admitted cheerfully, making him laugh again and pat her arm before returning to work.

§ § § -- August 19, 2002

Leslie was more than a little surprised to find Christian waiting in front of the main house with two packed suitcases. "What's all this?"

"We," Christian said with a grin, "are going on a trip. I think we deserve it after the weekend we just had. I've booked us a room at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel right on Waikiki Beach, and we're going to have a very luxurious time of it. And this is for you, to spend any way you like." With that he pressed a short stack of bills into her hand, while Roarke looked on with bemusement and a trace of humor.

Leslie looked at the money in her hand, counted it, then stared at him in sheer amazement. "Christian…this is…this is two hundred and fifty dollars! What on earth…?"

He laughed. "I'd better come clean, I suppose. Your British guest tripped into my office yesterday after I called him to let him know his laptop was ready, praised me to the moon and back, and then blithely filled my hand with bills that I doubt he even looked at before handing them over. I spent nearly two hours trying to track him down to give him back the overage, but I never did find him. So I finally gave up and decided it would be yours to do with as you wish."

Leslie giggled happily and flung her arms around him. "Well, he could certainly afford it. How sweet…thank you, my love. When do we leave?"

"Right now," Christian said cheerfully. "So we'll see you on Tuesday evening, Mr. Roarke, and I hope you'll have a restful two days. We intend to."

"Do you indeed?" Roarke inquired mischievously, and left them staring at him with dangling jaws while he crossed the porch. At the door he paused and grinned at them. "You had better hurry if you intend to catch the next charter out. Otherwise Leslie may have to spend that money right here on the island." The speed of their departure left him laughing.  
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_Next up…a what-if story taken right out of my own experiences. I hope to make it worth the while._


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